


Worth a Shot

by WintersCaptain



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: i love these boys, sweet baby outlaws, wholesome boys being wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersCaptain/pseuds/WintersCaptain
Summary: John does his best to comfort Arthur after the deaths of Eliza and Isaac.





	Worth a Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://reeksofmiracles.tumblr.com/post/182765776807/i-imagine-a-young-tiny-john-nothing-but-bone-and) post. 
> 
> This takes place around 1883ish, just after the loss of Eliza and Isaac. John is thirteen, Arthur is around twenty-three.

John kicked the chest at the foot of Arthur’s bed by way of announcing his presence. Hosea had explained the situation to him – that Arthur’s lover and son had been killed in a violent robbery and thus he was _“in a tough place, so be kind to him John, if you can.”_ – but John remained frustrated and upset by Arthur’s distance, tears, and neglect of him.

Arthur flinched at the sound, under his elk-hide blanket despite the hot sun. He’d been in bed for days, sleeping on and off. He couldn’t tell when his eyes were dry or wet, or whether he’d eaten. People came and went – Dutch and Hosea and Susan.

John hadn’t come. The kid was full of vinegar and spit, anyway. But now he was here, kicking his personal effects and bringing a thundercloud with him.

“Whaddyou want,” he said, rather than asked.

John’s mouth screwed up. What did he want? He bit at his chapped lips for a moment, bouncing on his toes and fiddling with the knife at his hip. “Want to go fishing?”

Arthur sighed and rolled over. “No.”

John huffed and sat at the foot of the cot, refusing to budge. “You should get out of bed.” He swallowed, his neck craning around to catch a glimpse of Arthur’s face. “It’ll make you feel better.”

 _Would it?_ John wasn’t sure, _but it was worth a shot._

It was oppressively hot. Their most recent camp placed them in the middle of a Nevada desert, where the sun stared down at them for nearly ten hours a day. John didn’t feel good getting out of bed, but he certainly hadn’t been there for a week already.

Dutch had tried to explain it to him, what it was like to lose someone you loved so much, but he’d quit and walked away when John asked him if he was going to cry.

“I don’t want to fish, John, give it a rest.”

“But,” John searched for words, “I want –“

“It doesn’t matter what you want, boy.”

John huffed again and shoved at Arthur’s hip, the only peak on a mountain range of his body under the blanket. “Just sit up for a minute, will you?”

Arthur sighed and didn’t move. With another shove and a bitter exhalation, John moved to stand but stopped. Arthur had thrown back the blanket, rising slowly, painfully, to look at him.

John’s breath caught, and suddenly he understood why Dutch walked away from him. Arthur’s eyes were swollen and red, the scar on his nose sticking out silvery white. He was gaunt in the cheeks, and his eyes, usually so full of life and spirit, had a dead man behind them.

“What.” _Flat._

John shivered, despite the heat. He adjusted, leaning toward Arthur with the inside of his cheek between his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s face twisted into something that looked like a smile and a grimace, all at once. Uncomfortable. Pained. He rose further, turning and planting his feet on the floor, watching them as he did so. He looked surprised to see them like he’d forgotten they were there.

There was a trembling instability to him as if he could shake apart at any moment. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Dutch walking forward to them, but before he could reach the lean-to, Hosea had pulled him back, giving the boys space they so desperately needed.

Arthur missed them entirely. Taking a few deep breaths, he turned his gaze to John. “Do you want to go fishing now or in the evening?”

He cracked a smile and stared at his own feet. The hope he felt in his thirteen-year-old body was flickering and unstable, but he held onto it.

A hand found its way to his shoulder, broad and heavy. “Sorry for leaving you behind, John.” _Sorry, you didn’t meet them. Sorry, you didn’t know my son. Sorrysorrysorry_....

“’S okay.”

They were quiet for a moment, watching the sand kick up in the hot breeze.

After what seemed like minutes of easy silence, John stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes. “Well, just get me when you’re ready, and we can –“

He was cut off by a crushing hug, finding his face firmly planted in Arthur’s chest. He was still painfully small, childlike, and always felt more so when he was near Arthur. He wrapped his arms around him as best he could, finding a place around Arthur’s back to lock his fingers around his wrist and burrow into him.

“Thanks, John.” There were tears in his voice, and maybe John felt some in his hair, too. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Yes, I postponed a chapter posting of [Spitting Images](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426279) to make this happen, but I just couldn't shake this little scene. 
> 
> Come, leave a comment and shout about some cowboys or drop me a [request](http://laughingloki.co.vu/ask). 
> 
> Much love,  
> Tali


End file.
